Fallen
by Viral Inque
Summary: BuffySpike one-shot... Spike tries to help Buffy come to grips with her afterlife... parallel to 'Life Serial'


Fallen (One-Shot)  
  
The rain wasn't forecast, but it had come just the same. It fell in torrential sheets of liquid intensity through the acrid air, spreading an unwelcoming mist across the cemetery. The moon, which had been full and bright, was a darkish gray blob in the black night. The senses dimmed, until all that remained was the pattering sound of rain on everything and shadows all around to keep you company.  
  
Buffy sat, unmoved, solemn and wet on a random headstone. She sat with her chin resting on her knees and her arms wrapped snugly around her. She was faintly aware of the water making a home in her boots, and of her general discomfort. She coughed quietly as rain rolled down and into her nose as she breathed. It was really late. The others were probably worrying by now, but she couldn't go home yet. There was too much going on there, too much coddling, and Buffy wanted to think. She wanted to remember. Or, was it to forget?  
  
The image of the inside of that coffin always persisted on rising to the surface. That feeling of being trapped. The sound of her nails ripping through velvet, then the solid wood beneath it ripping into her nails. And the painfully vacant space left inside her, where her happiness used to live. She wanted to remember. But all that she could do was try to forget.  
  
There was almost nothing left of that other place where she had been. The memories slipped further and further away with every passing moment. Now, mostly they were just silhouettes on gray backing. She couldn't remember what or where it was. What had it been like? What had she done all day? Did she have friends there? Was mom there? None of it would make any sense. All that was left was that empty feeling of something being lost. She wanted to remember, but if she forgot, maybe she wouldn't want to remember anymore.  
  
She blinked, as if coming out of a trance, and sighed deeply. She realized she was cold. But it didn't really matter anymore. Everything was misery, and what difference did it make if she was cold on top of that. She looked at the world around her and it made her sick. It made her angry. She hated her friends for doing this to her, then she hated herself even more for thinking it. It seemed like a cruel joke they'd played on her. But they thought it was all for the best, which made it so hard to even look them in the face.  
  
She sighed again and hopped off the headstone. She decided to take shelter under the overhang of a nearby mausoleum. Her clothes were soaked through and she couldn't stop shivering. The rain didn't show any signs of letting up.  
  
After a moment, she decided she didn't want to think anymore. Not about being alive, not about being dead, not about anything. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, that could fix her. There was no password, magic crest, or birthright that would make things the way they were. She was resigned to wait for death a second time, only this time she'd be ready and willing. So she decided to admire the stonework on the mausoleum.  
  
"Hey."  
  
Buffy flinched ever so slightly. Spike walked around from somewhere behind the mausoleum. He was holding a cigarette in his hand but it had gone out and was all soggy.  
  
"What do you want, Spike?" Buffy replied in a frustrated tone, "And what are you doing out in the rain?"  
  
"Bronze," he said, moving next to Buffy, so he was out of the rain enough to light up another cigarette. "They were having a special on those flowering onion things."  
  
"That's because you're the only person who eats those things," Buffy said with a roll of her eyes, "I can smell it on your breath from here."  
  
"Not true. There's a boom, coming. Shut up."  
  
They said nothing for a moment. Buffy watched the rain fall, Spike smoked his perfectly dry cigarette. The rain had tapered off to a downpour. The moon was trying to come back out again.  
  
"What are you doing out here?" Spike said as he observed Buffy, who was shivering uncontrollably, "You look like your having a episode or something?"  
  
"I came here to be left alone," she said flatly.  
  
"Is that it? Still feeling sorry for ourselves, are we?" Spike said mordantly.  
  
"Go away please."  
  
"No. Wet enough as is. Why don't we go inside," he said, gesturing towards the crypt they were standing in front of with one hand as he grabbed her gently by the arm with other. "You'll catch your death of cold," he added with a smile.  
  
Buffy gave him a frustrated look. But she hadn't felt so bad since Spike had showed up. She didn't understand it, was unwilling to accept it, but Spike was the closest thing to a friend she had now that hadn't recently done anything particularly horrible to her.  
  
"Fine," she said, resigned, "But I'm not going to pretend that was funny."  
  
"Fair enough," he answered, still smiling.  
  
The crypt housed two sarcophagus', which sat parallel to one another. They were both open and unoccupied. They scanned the small room casually, and noticed they were the only dead things there. Spike walked over to the first sarcophagus and pushed the stone lid back on, then walked to the other one and did the same. He gestured to one, and Buffy sat down. He flung his coat off and took the one opposite her.  
  
"Why are you doing this?" Buffy asked, a curious tone to her voice.  
  
"What?" he said, "You know, I'm just being polite is all."  
  
"Spike," Buffy started, and smiled for the first time all day, "We've known each other for a long time and we've been a lot of things, but polite has never been one of them."  
  
"Fair enough," he said, and thought on the question. A couple of minutes passed before he said, "I guess I sympathize with what your going through. I think that's why you came to me to when you wanted to open up about it. It's a hard thing to deal with. I wish there had been someone there to help me through it when I died. Someone who, you know, actually cared."  
  
"I guess," Buffy replied, not knowing what to say, "Thanks."  
  
"So, you getting along alright?" Spike asked, flicking his cigarette against the wall, where it danced and sparked, then went out with a hiss as it bounced into a puddle of water.  
  
"I'll be okay," she answered as she folded her arms. Her brow wrinkled thoughtfully.  
  
"Will you, really?" he asked.  
  
"I don't know," she answered, "It's not getting any easier."  
  
Buffy hopped down off the sarcophagus and paced around the crypt. Would it ever get any easier? What if it never did? She hated the way she felt towards her friends more then anything. How she couldn't stand the way they looked at her, and the way she looked at them. The way they kept on saying they saved her from the fiery pits of Hell. If she told them the truth it would devastate them.  
  
"Hey, if you want to talk about it.." Spike started, a tinge of sincerity marring his normal edginess.  
  
"Spike, I don't need your pity," Buffy replied quickly.  
  
Spike stood up and walked over to her. He looked into Buffy's eyes and, much to his dismay, he did feel pity for her.  
  
"It's not pity," he blurted out, affronted by the insinuation, "You just deserve better is all. You did your bit to help the world. Five bloody stars. You should be off sipping daiquiri's with Moses or something."  
  
Buffy laughed. It felt good she thought.  
  
"I'm serious," Spike growled.  
  
Buffy turned away as she wiped the smile off her face. When she did, her face took on a grave tone, as it had earlier.  
  
"Spike," she said, looking at him, "You aren't..?  
  
"What?"  
  
"You know.."  
  
"Oh, you have a lot of nerve!" Spike screamed, "I pour what little heart I have out to you, trying to make you feel better, and you accuse me of trying to cop a quick shag!"  
  
"Is that so crazy?" she said, as some of the edge left her face.  
  
"No," Spike said offhandedly "But that's not it at all."  
  
"Then what is it?"  
  
Spike didn't say anything. The fact of the matter was he didn't know, and now that he gave it due consideration, this bothered him slightly. He understood his feelings towards the Slayer, and it had never necessarily had anything to do with sincerity.  
  
Buffy walked over to the entrance of the crypt and opened the door. The rain was still coming down heavy and the sky was still black. She had just started to warm up as her clothes slowly dried.  
  
"Well, I'm not going back out there now," she said casually, "You in any hurry to get home?"  
  
"One crypts as good as the next," Spike answered frankly.  
  
Spike walked back to the sarcophagus' and sat down again. Buffy closed the door with a resounding slam, and sat down across from him again. Spike pulled out his cigarettes again, looked at them, and offered one to Buffy. He concealed the slightest hint of surprise when she actually took one. He reached over with his lighter and lit her cigarette.  
  
"No point in worrying about dying from cancer," she said as she took a long pull.  
  
"Oh, and you get on me about the bad jokes," Spike said with a amused smirk.  
  
"So what was it like, when you came back?" Buffy asked.  
  
"I'd rather not get into all that," Spike replied, waving the question away, "Suffice to say, there were no balloons or bloody fanfare on anyone's part, least of all mine."  
  
"How'd you deal?"  
  
"I killed a lot of people."  
  
"Oh," Buffy said, nodding dramatically, "I'll have to keep that in mind."  
  
"Yeah, well.." Spike retorted, "To each his own. Or her own. Whatever."  
  
There was another long silence and the rain hitting the roof of the crypt echoed through the room. Buffy looked at her cigarette as she tasted the raw smoke in her mouth and decided she wasn't a smoker. She flicked it into the same puddle of water Spike's had landed in with a hiss.  
  
A half hour came and went. They both looked at each other. Buffy shrugged.  
  
"Guess we're all out of witty banter," she said dryly, "Well, we are well passed our quota for conversation."  
  
"Wish we were back at my place," Spike said, "Tellie, dry clothes, and some warm blood would do good right about now."  
  
"I'd almost go for some blood right about now," Buffy replied, smacking her lips and making a face, "I don't understand how you can smoke so much."  
  
"We could make a break for it," Spike said thoughtfully, "I got some soda, I think. And I can find something for you to change into. Wait, don't you have to go home and check up on the Scoobies, and the little bit."  
  
"I can't be there right now," she said, looking down at the floor, "It's just.. there's.."  
  
"Oh, right, sorry," he said, "Well, let's go then."  
  
They made their way through the rain at a brisk jog, darting nimbly around headstones and trees as they went. Soon enough though, they were soaking wet again. So they gave up running and walked the rest of the way in silence.  
  
When they got there, Spike went downstairs to dry off and change. After he was done, Buffy went down and emerged wearing one of Spike's black t-shirts, and a pair of jeans that fit surprisingly well.  
  
"Are these my jeans?" she asked, pointing down at them.  
  
Spike poked his head out from the refrigerator with a diet Coke in one hand and a bag filled with blood hanging out of his mouth.  
  
"Oh, yeah, they are," he said, then added apathetically as he tossed Buffy the soda, "Buffybot."  
  
"I'll take these with me if that's okay with you," she said, giving him a disgusted look. She took a seat on a stone bench and popped the top off the can.  
  
"Sure," Spike said, tossing the bag of blood into the microwave.  
  
"This is different," he said thoughtfully as he watch the timer on the microwave count down. The ancient machine let out an exhausted ding.  
  
"Being dry?"  
  
"No, you git. The two of us, here, like this," Spike replied, "All casual-like." He plopped down into his battered armchair and bit into the bag of blood with his fangs. His face instantly contorted into it's vampire form.  
  
"It is, isn't it?" she said reflectively, "And a lot easier then pounding the snot out of each other."  
  
"God bless bloody hindsight."  
  
"Of course, we'll probably be trying to kill each other again by morning," Buffy said, staring at the ceiling.  
  
"It's in our nature. I'd we didn't, I'd just feel.. dirty," Spike said as he drained the last of the blood. He sat there licking his lips for a second, then shook his head, and his face returned to it's friendlier form, arguably.  
  
"That's true. Why do you think that is?" she asked musingly, sounding as she was being hypnotized.  
  
"Dunno," he said, smiling, "Mostly, I'm just hungry or horny."  
  
Buffy shrugged off Spike's attempt at humor and looked at him seriously. "Thanks, Spike. For, you know, whatever. Keeping me company."  
  
Spike studied Buffy for a moment. She looked tired. She hadn't been herself in a lot of ways since she had been brought back. But more then anything, she looked tired. It was as if she was alive, but the life had been sucked out of her just the same.  
  
He walked over and sat down next to her. He ran a hand through his stark blonde hair. "There's a lot of emotions that run between us," he said as he let out a deep breath, "Sometimes, well, mostly, it seems that we can't find enough time in the day to hate each other. But, I guess, we're at the point where there's a kind of honor between us. We don't kick when the other ones down on the ground. So, it was my pleasure. Just don't go on with the hugs and happiness, or we will be shagging tonight."  
  
Buffy pulled back and clocked Spike right in the jaw. He fell off the bench and landed on the dusty floor with no great grace.  
  
"What the hell was that for?!" he screamed, rubbing at his jaw.  
  
"Just didn't want to give you the wrong signals," she answered, grinning from ear to ear.  
  
"You're a piece of work, you know that," he said, laughing gingerly as he stood up, "Hey, you wanna watch Passions?"  
  
"Passions comes on at four in the morning?" Buffy asked, looking at him curiously.  
  
"I have 'em all on tape," Spike said, looking at her hopefully.  
  
"But I've never watched Passions. I'd have no idea what's going on."  
  
"So we'll start from the beginning," he said, walking over to his armchair and offering it to her, "Trust me, you'll like it."  
  
Buffy did rather enjoy Passions. She thought there were some sudble similarities between the show and their lives in Sunnydale. There weren't enough fight scenes for her taste though. Spike became someone else as he watched Passions. He became a biased narrarater, explaining and opining on every character and scene. Buffy looked at him there, sitting on the floor in front of her with his back against the foot of the armchair, and he looked almost normal. They looked almost normal.  
  
She took a second somewhere along the line, as she sat there quietly, to think again. She conjured up the feelings she had been fighting with earlier and looked them over again. They were still there sure enough, but they were somehow smaller. Not less important, just smaller. She resisted the urge to hug Spike. He didn't know it, but he really came up to bat for her tonight.  
  
They were on the third episode, when Spike started looking around him curiously.  
  
"Where'd I leave my smokes?" he asked, getting up, "Bugger, they're probably in my other pants. Hit pause on that, will you. I'll be right back."  
  
Buffy stood up and hit the button on the vcr. She let out a yawn and stretched, looking oddly feline. She walked over to the door to the crypt and swung it open.  
  
The rain had finally stopped. The sun had started to show signs of waking, as the sky had turned to a pale shade of purple. Everything looked like crystal as the early light reflected off the drops of water resting on everything. The night was coming to end. Buffy could finally leave. She stepped out for a second to admire the contrast to what it had been like when she'd got there. Then she went back inside and closed the door behind her.  
  
Fin. 


End file.
